Darkmoon (The Witches of Cleopatra Hill Book 3) (8 page)

“Miles or minutes?” Connor asked with a grin.

“Minutes.”

“Hard to say. I was kind of hoping we’d be getting in early enough that we’d miss some of the traffic, but….” After letting the words trail off, he gave an eloquent lift of his shoulders. “I think it’s still about twenty miles to Newport Beach, but if it stays this backed up, that could take us more than an hour.”

“Crap,” I said.

“Normally I’d say we could pull off, go get a snack somewhere and wait for it to die down, but from what I’ve heard, this probably isn’t going to clear up until at least seven.”

“Great.” I shook my head, wondering why people would put up with this sort of congestion when there were so many other places they could live. “No, let’s just keep going. I suppose we’ll get there eventually.”

“And we have a five-star timeshare waiting for us at the end of it instead of a Motel 6.”

“True.” That made me perk up a little, and so I tried to tell myself to be patient as we inched along. Things did get marginally better once we passed a minor fender-bender, and so we were able to rocket to a full twenty miles an hour instead of doing that horrible stop-and-go thing.

At last we were pulling off the freeway and onto a major road, which, while also congested, still moved a bit faster, and we came to the crest of a hill before dropping down toward Pacific Coast Highway.

“Wow,” I said, since I couldn’t think of anything remotely appropriate.

The Pacific Ocean sparkled ahead of us, deep blue, whitecaps catching the lowering sun and sparkling as if someone had tossed a bag of diamonds on the water’s surface. It seemed to stretch on forever, the horizon so much farther away than I had ever seen it, I in my world bounded by hills and mountains on every side.

“Yeah, that’s….” He let the words fade away, then shook his head as we coasted down the hill toward our destination.

Here everything was clean and perfect and manicured, from the carefully clipped trees to the smooth green lawns. I’d never seen so much grass in my life. We turned into the timeshare property, slowing down to accommodate the speed bumps, and eventually pulled up under a
porte cóchère
. I found myself wishing we’d borrowed Lucas’ Porsche, because even though my Cherokee was brand-new and shiny, it couldn’t really compete with the Mercedes and Beemers and other luxury cars I saw around us.

“What’s that?” I asked, pointing at a low-slung convertible parked off to one side. I’d never seen anything like it.

“Tesla. It’s electric…and expensive.”

I’d never really been into cars, but that convertible was something else. And electric? Cool, I supposed, and maybe practical here in Southern California, but I wondered what its range was. We had a lot of wide-open spaces in northern Arizona.

We got out of the Cherokee, and a cool breeze touched my skin. It felt damp and heavy compared to the dry air I was used to. The breeze carried with it a strong, almost wild scent, one I’d never smelled before but knew had to be sea salt. In that moment, I didn’t just feel as if I was in another state…I felt as if I’d somehow landed on a different planet.

And yet I’d been born here.

Connor opened the hatch, and we retrieved our meager luggage. Right then I sort of wished we’d gone to the Motel 6. I wouldn’t have felt quite so out of place.

But the people at the front desk were very friendly, and gave us a map of the compound — it was probably bigger than all of Jerome — and told us where we could park. We got back in the car, drove slowly through the winding streets of the complex, and eventually ended at the unit that was our destination.

When Connor unlocked the door, I said “wow” for the second time in the space of an hour, and for good reason. This wasn’t a dinky hotel room, but an entire apartment, with a separate living room and dining room, not to mention a full kitchen. Best of all, it had sliding glass doors that opened to a balcony, and that balcony offered a breathtaking ocean view.

“Feeling better?” Connor asked as I stood there, mesmerized.

“I — this is amazing, Connor. I had no idea.”

“Neither did I, but I suppose I should have known. Lucas doesn’t exactly hang out with the low-rent crowd.”

“Guess not,” I said shakily.

He glanced up at the clock. “So…it’s after five. What do you want to do?”

Good question. It wasn’t that late, but I was feeling wiped out after that drive. Maybe it would be better to take the rest of the evening to unwind, to relax and be tourists, and then get a fresh start the next morning.

“Freshen up a little, and then walk on the beach.”

“No food?” he asked, teasing me.

“Oh, that, too. But I think I want to watch the sun set over the ocean.”

“They’re on Daylight Savings Time here. That sun may be setting later than you think.”

“And there are no restaurants here with ocean views?”

“Touché. I’m sure we can find something.” He held out a hand to me, and I went to him, let him fold me against him, felt the warmth of his body on mine. We stood like that for a long moment, and then he relaxed his embrace somewhat. “Okay,” he said, “let’s go sightseeing.”

A
ll my weariness
seemed to drop away with the touch of that fresh ocean breeze, the feel of the cool sand beneath my toes. It was colder than I’d expected, chilly enough that I wished I’d brought a sweater with me. Even so, I saw people all around me in shorts and tank tops, or girls in bikinis catching their last few rays for the day.

To his credit, Connor didn’t seem to be openly gawking at any of them — so much so that I said, “It’s okay to look, you know. I’m guessing there aren’t a lot of opportunities for bikini-wearing in Flagstaff.”

“You might be surprised. We do have a lot of hot tubs up there.” Then he shook his head. “Why should I be looking at those girls? You’d look just as good in a bikini.”

I sort of doubted that, but it was gallant of him to say so. “Well, for the next month or so, anyway. After that I’m going to start looking like a beached whale.”

“You don’t know that. With one of my cousins, you could hardly tell she was even pregnant. Lucas used to tease her that she must be carrying the baby in her shoe.”

Somehow I doubted I would be that lucky, but I only shrugged and said, “Maybe.”

We walked for a while, and then my stomach growled, causing Connor to grin and comment that maybe it was time to get something to eat. Of course we knew nothing about the area, but a few minutes on Yelp helped direct us to a nearby restaurant. Again, I felt woefully underdressed, even though I’d changed into a fresh top and jeans before we left the hotel. Once I started eating, though, I stopped worrying about my style — or lack thereof — and just concentrated on the amazing sea bass and twice-baked potato. I did regret not being able to have a glass of wine with my meal, but it wasn’t enough to keep me from enjoying myself.

It was easy to forget why we were really here, our true reason for coming to California. Connor and I might have been just another young couple enjoying a night on the town. Looking at us, no one would be able to guess that we possessed powers far beyond the ordinary, or that we were suffering under a curse cast many, many years earlier, in a time and place so far removed from where we were now that they could have been something out of a fairytale…albeit a Grimm one.

But I knew it wasn’t a fairytale, but my life. Connor and I needed this time together, I knew, to return to one another, to be a couple. We’d have our meal, and then we’d go back to that luxurious little apartment Lucas had so thoughtfully procured for us. And then Connor and I would make love with the sound of the waves in the background, and we’d fall asleep in one another’s arms, dreaming only of each other, keeping tomorrow for tomorrow.

And that is exactly what we did.

W
e took
our time the next morning, sharing the shower, luxuriating in one another’s company. There was a restaurant on the resort’s grounds, so we wandered over there to fortify ourselves for the day. By the time we were done, it was past ten o’clock, and I knew I couldn’t delay any longer.

“So….” Connor said as we climbed back into the Cherokee. By tacit agreement, he got into the driver’s seat. “Hospital or house?”

“House,” I replied. I’d briefly toyed with the idea of going to Hoag Hospital to see if there was any more information I could dig up, but realized that was a dead end. There might be the remotest chance that there were nurses or doctors still on staff who’d been there when they delivered me, but I kind of doubted it. Twenty-two years was a long time. At least at the house, even if no one was around who remembered Sonya McAllister, there was a slim chance that she might have left something behind, something that could have been kept, just in case.

All right, a very slim chance. But I didn’t have much else to go on.

It turned out that 822 Oceanfront Drive was at almost the opposite end of Newport Beach from the resort where we were staying. We inched our way up Pacific Coast Highway, drove past the Porsche dealerships and yacht dealerships and restaurants, passed the turn-off for the hospital where I’d been born, and then turned left into a development that was built right up against the beach. The houses were all on the large side, vaguely Cape Cod in style with their clapboard siding in various shades of brown and cream and deep gray-blue. I didn’t know a lot about real estate, but I knew anyplace built this close to the ocean had to be extremely expensive. And yet this was where my mother had lived during her time here, had probably conceived me? I couldn’t quite wrap my head around that.

“Maybe it’ll turn out that your father is some long-lost millionaire or something,” Connor suggested, although I noticed he gave me a quick glance to make sure I hadn’t taken the quip the wrong way.

“Maybe,” I allowed. I knew that my mother had told Rachel before she left that she wanted to see the ocean, but this seemed to be taking that idea to the extreme.

Parking was horrendous, of course, but then Connor spotted a convertible Beetle pulling out of a space just ahead of us, and he hit the brakes, waiting for the car to get out of the way. Then he somehow managed to jigger the Cherokee into the too-small spot while I held my breath and hoped he wouldn’t hit the Mercedes in front of us or the Land Rover behind us. Somehow he managed it, though, and we both got out, feeling once again the wind in our hair and tasting salt on the breeze.

“Which way?” he asked.

I looked up at the street signs, trying to calculate which way the house numbers ran. “Up there,” I said, pointing to my left.

In this development, the garages faced out on the street, while the front yards were actually on the ocean side of the houses, their gates opening directly onto the sand. After a few steps, I decided to take off my flip-flops and walked along barefoot, although Connor didn’t seem too eager to abandon his hiking shoes. We progressed slowly, reading the house numbers.

And then there was 822.

It was one of the smaller houses on the block, but still impressive-looking, freshly painted, with a balcony that ran along the entire façade and what looked like a staircase that led up to the roof, probably for more ocean viewing. I’d seen a few houses in Sedona built like that, too. What I didn’t see were any real signs of occupation, like patio furniture or potted plants — unlike the house directly next door, which had a riotous collection of fuchsias and orchids and other tropical flowers I didn’t recognize blooming in the small fenced-in yard.

“What do you think?” Connor murmured, standing close and reaching out to give my hand a reassuring squeeze.

Frankly, I didn’t know what to think. The last thing I’d expected was to come all the way out here and find a house that didn’t look like anyone lived in it. I supposed it could be a vacation home. In fact, that made sense, if it turned out that my mother or her mysterious lover had rented it all those years ago.

In that moment the front door to the house next to it, the one with all the flowers, opened. A trim-looking older woman with expertly highlighted hair came out, holding a water can. She seemed to notice Connor and me right away, and smiled. “Are you looking for someone?”

Well, of course I was, but I couldn’t think of a good way to explain that to her. “Um…sort of,” I confessed. “I think my mother lived here a long time ago. At least, this is the address she put down on the birth certificate.”

The woman peered at me intently, and her eyes widened. After setting the watering can down on a glass-topped accent table, she came to the gate, her gaze never leaving my face. “I don’t believe it! You — you’re Sonya’s baby?”

Oh, Goddess. Was it possible? “I’m Angela McAllister, yes.”

“Sonya McAllister,” the woman said, and shook her head. “Such a pretty girl she was. You look a good deal like her — and you must be about the same age, too.”

“I’m twenty-two.”

“Yes, that’s right. Twenty-one, twenty-two, somewhere in there.”

I felt Connor’s fingers tighten around mine. “So you knew her? You’ve lived here all this time?” he asked. He sounded a bit incredulous, and I couldn’t really blame him. There went his theory that people in California moved all the time.

She smiled. “Yes. I’m Linda Sanderson. My husband and I bought the house about two years before Sonya came here. That house was a rental property — still is, actually. The new tenants are coming this weekend and will be here all summer.” Then she seemed to shake her head at herself and said, “Why don’t you both come in, Angela and — ” She gave Connor an expectant look, and he seemed to recover himself, saying,

“I’m Connor Wilcox, Angela’s fiancé.”

It was the first time he’d ever referred to himself that way, and his use of the word made me feel as if I’d been lit up from the inside. It seemed to please Linda as well, because her smile broadened and she said, “Very nice to meet you, Connor. Please, come inside. I’d love to hear all about Sonya and what happened to her.”

Oh, boy. That wasn’t a very pleasant story. But I wouldn’t lie — not about that, anyway. Obviously I couldn’t tell this Linda Sanderson that my mother and I were from a clan of witches, or that Connor, my handsome fiancé, just happened to be a warlock.

Slipping my flip-flops back on, I followed Linda inside, Connor a few paces behind me. The interior of the house was casual and elegant at the same time, much like its owner. She gestured for us to sit on a couch covered in a soft, nubby beige fabric, with beautifully embroidered pillows. All around were more orchids, and a glass bowl filled with shells and sand dollars sat on the glass and blond-wood coffee table.

“Iced tea?” she asked.

“Just water, thank you,” I responded. I didn’t want to ask whether the tea was caffeinated and then have to go into the whole caffeine-avoidance pregnancy thing.

“Sure thing,” she said. “And you, Connor?”

“Tea sounds great, thank you.”

She went and busied herself in the kitchen for a few minutes, then came back with tall green-hued glasses filled with water for me and tea for Connor. After she sat down on the love seat facing the couch where Connor and I had seated ourselves, she asked, “So, what brings you here after all these years? Your family is from Arizona, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” I replied. “Northern Arizona. A little town called Jerome.” And how far away it felt from this serene beachfront house and the woman who sat across from me, with her perfectly bobbed hair and smooth, tanned skin. I had a feeling she had to be in her late fifties or early sixties, but she looked amazing. Botox, maybe? It seemed a Newport Beach sort of thing to do.

“And how is your mother?”

I swallowed. “Well, that is — she passed away a long time ago, not too long after she came back to Jerome. A motorcycle accident. I don’t even remember her.”

An expression of dismay passed over Linda’s regular features. “Oh, I’m so very sorry to hear that. She was a lovely girl.”

“She was?” That didn’t seem to jibe with most of Aunt Rachel’s remarks about her sister, which generally centered on her heedlessness and lack of responsibility. “I mean,” I added quickly, as I saw Linda’s eyebrows lift in surprise, “I don’t really know anything about her. My aunt — her sister — doesn’t like to talk much about it.”

“Ah.” She nodded in apparent understanding. “Well, Sonya didn’t tell me all that much about her family, only said she was from Arizona and that both her parents had passed away. When she came here with Andre — ”

“Andre?” I asked.

“Her fiancé,” Linda replied, looking puzzled. “Your father. You didn’t know about him?”

“No,” I said. I felt Connor’s fingers reach out to touch mine, give them a reassuring squeeze. “That is, my mother didn’t talk about him. On the birth certificate, it just says ‘unknown’ where the father’s name should be.”

For a few seconds Linda didn’t say anything, just lifted her own glass of tea and sipped at it. Now I could see the worry line between her brows deepen, and I supposed Botox couldn’t erase everything. At length she said, “Well, I suppose I can partly understand that. They had a terrible fight only a few days before you were born.”

“They did?” Connor’s fingers tightened around mine, offering his strength, and I asked, “What was the fight about?”

“I don’t know for sure. They were shouting, and their windows were open, but ours weren’t.” She gave a grim little smile. “I suppose they thought it was still fairly warm, although it was sweater weather for the rest of us SoCal natives. Anyway, there was shouting, and then Andre — your father — drove off in his Jeep. He never came back.”

And because of that argument…whatever it had actually been about…my mother had made sure I’d never know who my father really was. “Do you remember his last name?”

“Williams, I think. He seemed like a very nice young man, so I couldn’t figure out what on earth it might have been that would make him and Sonya argue like that. So handsome, too.” Her gaze flicked toward Connor, and I saw the little line appear between her brows again. “It’s funny, but you remind me a little of him. Not exactly, but there’s something….” She shook her head. “Maybe it’s just that you’re both tall and dark-haired. I think I remember him saying once that he was part Native American. Navajo, maybe.”

Suddenly the room felt a little chillier. “Navajo? You’re sure?”

“I think so.”

I risked a quick sidelong glance at Connor. He was sitting motionless, his hand still holding mine, but I thought I saw a tremor in the muscles along his jaw line, as if he’d had a sudden thought but wanted to keep it to himself. “That’s interesting,” I managed to say. “I don’t suppose you remember if they told you how they met?”

“Actually, I do. Andre was out running to the store or something, and my husband was at work, so Sonya and I were having some tea and chatting, just watching the beach. I remember asking her what had brought her and Andre here to Newport Beach, and she said that was the funny thing, that she’d actually met him here, even though they were both from Arizona.”

“They were?” I asked, my voice sounding strangled. “Do you remember where?”

“Hmm…somewhere around the Phoenix area, I think. Scottsdale or Tempe. Or was it Mesa?” Linda gave an apologetic shrug. “Sorry, that was a long time ago. I’m surprised I’m remembering as much as I am, but maybe it’s seeing you, seeing how much you look like Sonya, although your hair is much darker.”

“It’s all right,” I replied quickly. I didn’t want her to think I was upset with her; after all, she’d already given me more information about my parents than I’d previously heard in my entire life. “And — and can you tell me what happened? Why she left?”

“Well, the two of them had come here in late April, and she left in the middle of February, so she still had a few months left on her lease. Even so, the owner of the house told me she paid everything that was owed before she moved out. I always wondered how a young couple like that could have afforded the house in the first place, but obviously money wasn’t an issue.” Another lift of her shoulders, and she continued, “Anyway, she just said she didn’t want to stay here alone with the baby, so she was going back to Arizona to be with her family. And she packed up her things and left. I worried about her driving all that way with a newborn, and asked her if she couldn’t have someone from her family come here to get her, but she said that wasn’t possible. So she drove off one morning with you in a car seat, Angela, and that was the last I saw of her. I’ve often wondered what happened to her…and to Andre.”

Andre Williams. Andre wasn’t that common a name, but Williams sure was. I didn’t know how I’d begin to track him down. Hire a private investigator, maybe? There had to be records of some sort, starting with the lease on the house next door.

More than anything, though, I wanted to talk to Connor alone, find out why he’d reacted the way he did when Linda revealed that my long-lost father had possibly been part Navajo. Was it only the Wilcox connection with that tribe…or maybe something else?

Since I’d already let too much time elapse before I replied to her speech, I said quickly, “Thank you, Linda. That’s a big help. At least now I know who my father was.” Well, sort of, anyway. I had a name, and the possibility of him being part Navajo. Maybe he was listed in the tribal registry or something. I wasn’t really sure how those things worked.

She smiled at me, although something about her expression looked a little sad, as if she was recalling the young woman she’d known so many years ago and having to mentally adjust to the thought that she’d never lived to see her daughter grow up. “I wish I could tell you more, but that’s really all I can remember.”

“No, it’s fine. I really can’t begin to thank you for this.” I looked over at Connor and gave him the slightest of nods, signaling that I was ready to go. “We’ve really taken up enough of your time, though, so we’d better get going.”

It seemed as if she was about to demur, to say it was fine if we wanted to stay longer, but then she appeared to get a good look at my face, and nodded. “It’s no trouble. I’m very glad I was able to meet you. Well, meet you again, I mean.”